


Gathering darkness

by FakeCirilla9



Series: Fallen series [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Akallabêth, Canon Compliant, Dubious Morality, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Referenced Adultery, Second Age, Still, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23916412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/FakeCirilla9
Summary: A story of how Amandil found himself (eventually) dismissed from the King's Council.
Relationships: Amandil/Tar-Míriel, Ar-Pharazon/Tar-Miriel, Ar-Pharazôn/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Fallen series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723861
Kudos: 3





	Gathering darkness

Amandil stood up in a hurry when a white mare stopped before his threshold and the Queen slid gracefully down. The knight hastened to open the door himself but she had let herself in already.

“No servants?” she asked before he managed to greet her properly. “Do my husband tarries you with taxes so much that you cannot afford them any longer?”

“No, my Queen. Today is merely a… unique day and I gave them a day off. I am still able to provide refreshments and straw for the horse.”

His looked for someone of his household. Elendil was not home but one of his grandsons, Anárion was already bringing the mare to the stables.

“The holy day, it is today. I forgot.” The Queen seemed thoughtful and nostalgic as if her mind was turned to different times when the Númenóreans still remembered to venerate Valar. “But it is for the better. I wish to speak to you without any eavesdropping ears.”

Amandil bowed to her yet spoke:

“You needn’t worry, lady. My servants are faithful people.”

“Of course they are. I haven’t meant it like that. The palace life is making me suspicious of being spied at any corner. Even now they must whisper to my lord that I rode away in the morning mist.”

Amandil’s heart clenched at the despair in her voice yet it was not his place to comment on the private lives of the monarchs or advise in matters as intimate as were between a wife and a husband. Nevertheless, being of a gentle nature, he wished to do something, bring her relief if only temporary and as ephemeral as words could provide. He wondered what shall he say.

But at this moment Isildur came and brought them tart and a flask of water.

“Would you like wine, my Queen? It is morning but we shall have something light.”

“No, thank you. Clear water contents me to the fullest. Yet I have another wish you could grant, my lad. Go to the turn of the road and look out. If you see the King’s Men nearing, let me know. Will you do that for me?”

“Of course, my Queen. Your wish is my command.”

Something that could be an echo of a smile passed through Tar-Míriel’s features as the youth run off. Isildur called for his younger sibling and soon they both passed like the wind on the mountainside. The Queen watched them go.

“You are a blessed man, Amandil. You have your heirs and a family that loves you.”

“Did I disappoint you, Míriel? What could I do? Perhaps I shall deny his claims when he wasn’t a King yet. I shall be condemned for defying my lord but maybe that’d be a more noble thing to do, preventing yet greater evil?”

“Nay, I do not resent you. If I blame anyone – it is myself. Dazed with his grandeur, I did not descry his black heart. But I did not evade my, or rather his, suite to confide my sorrows or seek comfort. Let us not dwell on the past that cannot be changed but speak about the future that we still can save. If it’s not too late… But first, tell me where the rest of your family is? Will no one hinder us? I do trust them equally as yourself but I do not wish to risk more lives than I desperately need to. Long did I wonder if I shall come to you with this but you’re my only and last hope.”

“You are good and wise, my Queen, and I can tell you that they went to the sacred mountain heedless of the King’s disapproval.”

“I am glad to hear that. Truly, sire,” she touched Amandil’s hand, more wrinkled than hers. “For it is with accord to my wishes about this country. I feel that we shouldn’t turn from the Valar and I fear that we may soon drift so far from their teachings there will be no coming back.”

“What do you mean?”

“We do not have much time so I will try to tell you quickly what I know… and what I suspect.”

And so Tar-Míriel, or Ar-Zimraphel as her husband renamed her, begun to weave before the Prince of Andúnië a story of manipulation, deceit and great evil lurking in the heart of their lands. Amandil listened with growing unrest.

“I need you to speak with my husband, lord Amandil. He is well behind my influence as it is. Perhaps you can still reach him. Please.”

“You do not need to plead, my Queen. If half of these things come to fulfilment, may Valar have mercy on us.”

***

These days, Ar-Pharazôn occupied the throne far more often than the rightful Queen or than he did in the days of his youth. Once sailing the ocean’s wide waters and conquering new lands, he now retreated to the vast royal hall. Seldom letting folk or sunrays in, he brooded in the darkness, sunk deep into his own thoughts.

But the lord of Andúnië did not let himself be dismissed from before the hall’s doors.

“Ah, it is you, Amandil. Came to bother me with your meddlesome interference? No, do not bow now when you let yourself in against my wishes.”

“This is the role of the King’s adviser.”

“To defy my will?”

“To provide guidance when one strays from the path of the Light.”

“Now I know what she’s been up to this morning… But you do forget your place, counsellor. You may tell me what your opinion is but it is who shall judge whether to accede to your words. The will of the King shall prevail.”

“Yes, it shall. But does it now?”

“What are you saying?” the King hissed.

“I heard that another’s will gained power over yours. That you take counsel from our long-time enemy, from your prisoner of war, Sauron. It is unwise, my King.”

Ar-Pharazôn laughed but it was an unpleasant sound.

“Do you hear yourself? I defeated him, I captured him. He kneeled to my feet before the eyes of our armies. My victory was complete. I even brought him here shackled in chains, made him my prisoner. Are these deeds not enough for you to see who overpowers whom? I _own_ him.”

“A prisoner you call him but is he a prisoner still? I saw him in these halls. Does a prisoner walk freely unattended, unguarded, speaking at will to your subjects? Does a prisoner wear rich, silk robes and drips with the jewellery you brought him from Middle Earth? Shall a prisoner occupy the place belonging rightfully to your wife at your side? My lord, it pains me to say this to you but you treat him not like he was your tributary vassal but a consort – worse – a Queen.”

As Amandil spoke, the King’s face changed unrecognisably into a mask of lust, longing and greed. His eyes shone with unfulfilled sick desires. For a moment, he looked as if mad.

“You do not understand, content with what little you have! But he knows such a great many things. He tells me secrets of the Valar that they always hid from us. Shall I keep all these precious information locked away in the dungeon, silenced forever? Nay. I will extract them from him, one by one. Until I will learn the mystery of eternal life and be able to combat death itself.”

“Are you fey?” Amandil looked at him in dismay. “His poison is working on your mind and heart alike already if you believe what you say. Not as your adviser but as your old friend, I beg you, send him away!”

“Never! He’s mine and mine alone. I will not share. Why do you ask? Have you noticed his fairness? Would you like him to himself? But he’s mine, mine. My most treasured precious.”

“Is this how you intended to keep him? You hear his fair words, give heed to his lying tongue but his flattery does not seek the truth. Do not believe in a word he says. Get rid of him when you still can!”

For a moment, Ar-Pharazôn seemed to consider these words sincerely, battling in his heart with his own desires. Then, a firm resolution stilled his features as he looked straight at Amandil.

“No.”

***

“Perhaps…” a posh clenched at Ar-Pharazôn’s arm firmer, reminding him about the strength hidden beneath the smooth skin and polished nails. “You shouldn’t allow your advisers quite as much as you do? Once they take some liberties, they’re unwilling to ever return it.”

The words irritated Ar-Pharazôn’s ears like the too hot water stung his skin. Yet Sauron spoke in a gentle soothing murmur and never ceased massaging his tensed arms. Having the self-imposed ruler of Middle-Earth serving him as a bath slave was ever calming.

“Did you eavesdrop?” Ar-Pharazôn meant to pose the question angrily but the relaxing effect of the bath turned them drowsy.

“I can gather many things and read the moods and hearts of Men.”

“And what does tell you about Amandil?”

“That he may be dangerous.”

“Nonsense. That old gaffer?”

“He has love and respect of some people, does he not?”

“Only among a handful of dissenters.”

A moment passed and Ar-Pharazôn wished to just revel in the feeling of Sauron’s touch, breathing scented steam and soaking in the water. But now a dark cloud of suspicion, sprouting from the skilfully planted seed of doubt, hindered his rest.

“Do you think he could rouse them against me? The Faithful, I mean.”

“I'm not saying he could overthrow you, no, of course not. Yet it could prove wise to take away his weapons, his means to grudge you before he starts using them.”

“Don’t be ludicrous. I would not believe Amandil plans an uprising.”

“He is of the ancient line of the family,” noted Sauron. “And I detect his ambitions. He wants to usurp your power. Did he not speak out of place at times, undermining your authority?”

“Of course he does. They all do. But they shall not have their way, not as long as I live.”

The King grabbed his captive’s hand, adorned only with one simple golden band of a ring. Yet it was beautiful, perfect, unblemished, without one scratch or imperfection. And painfully _young_ compared to his own.

“As long as I live… But how many years do I yet have?”

Sauron bent over him even more than the forceful grip demanded. Hot breath brushed Ar-Pharazôn’s ear.

“There are some ways to slow ageing, to postpone the cruel fate imposed by the Valar. Do you want to hear about them?”

“Yes,” Ar-Pharazôn breathed.

“But first I shall warn you they are considered… wrong by some.”

“I don’t care. Tell me!” Ar-Pharazôn commanded.

And obediently his servant started to reveal yet more secrets to him and the King drunk his sweet words from his sensual lips greedily.


End file.
